


Mattress Malfunction

by Rose_of_Pollux



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: M/M, Old Married Couple, old spies, present day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 23:24:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16942692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_of_Pollux/pseuds/Rose_of_Pollux
Summary: Napoleon and Illya had to deal with worse lodgings in their younger years, but now, two old spies contend with a motel room that makes a THRUSH cell seem almost inviting.





	Mattress Malfunction

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by last week’s NCIS episode where Ducky complained about his motel room bed--and, as we all know, Ducky is totally Illya.

“Well,” Napoleon sighed, as he opened the door to the motel room. “It’s not exactly the luxury suites that we’ve been in since retirement, but it’s… something.” His expression was one of disapproval as he saw how barely put-together the room was; the room was a bland, powder-blue, with a beaten-up TV on an equally beaten-up stand, and a bed that looked like it was made of lumps. Baba Yaga was now prowling around the room with an air of a cat that was on the trail of vermin. “I’m beginning to think we should have opted for an actual hotel and a luxury suite. _Look_ at this dump…!”

“It’s closest to the airport; we couldn’t have planned on the flight getting cancelled,” Illya responded. “And everywhere else was full; it’s pointless to find somewhere else. And anyway, we’ve had worse lodgings in decades past, courtesy of THRUSH.”

“…I don’t know, I think some of those THRUSH cells just might have been an upgrade compared to this,” Napoleon said.

“Well, it’ll do just fine for tonight,” Illya said. “We’ll catch the first flight out in the morning and be on our vacation before we know it.”

“Mmh,” Napoleon grunted. He placed his suitcase aside and sat down on the bed to take his shoes off—and then yelped as he sunk down into it. “What the--!?”

“What’s the matter now? Something wrong with the bed?”

“This isn’t a bed—it’s a quicksand pit!”

“Oh, really…” Illya said, rolling his eyes. “You still have that old habit of exaggerating— _good Lord_ …!” He was cut off as he sunk down into the mattress upon sitting down on it, crashing onto Napoleon. “…Right, maybe you weren’t exaggerating.”

“…You think…?” Napoleon said, his eyes now barely an inch from Illya’s.

Illya gave a slight shrug.

“Perhaps we have put on some extra pounds in our older age--”

“I’m pretty sure the mattress has malfunctioned,” Napoleon said.

“Right, and those old silk pajamas of yours still fit,” Illya said, sarcastically. “Don’t think I didn’t know that you ordered some in a larger size.”

“…What are you saying…?”

“That we are now showing the effects of those gourmet meals of yours.”

“Strange, you never showed any regrets when you were eating them…”

“Well, they were good,” Illya said. “And they seem to have some property that has extended the life of our cat—whoever heard of a cat living 58 years?”

“Bastet might have something to do with that more than my cooking did,” Napoleon said. “…But, ah, we need to figure out a plan to escape this pit that we’ve seem to have gotten ourselves into…”

It wasn’t easy, but the two of them slowly managed to extricate themselves from the mattress.

The moment they had managed to escape, Baba Yaga leaped onto the bed—and meowed loudly in confusion as she sunk down in it, too.

“See, there’s the problem,” Napoleon said. “It can’t even hold a cat!”

“Oh, leave it be, Napoleon; I still say we’ve had worse to contend with.”

“…We were younger then.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Illya chided. “A night on the floor using the comforters as cushions will be fine, even at our age.”

“Great, and how do you intend to keep warm if we’re using our covers for a mattress?”

“Well, I assume that, even after all these years, you are still my ‘little comforter,’ hmm?” Illya asked, smirking.

“…Okay, you win.”

And so, they set themselves up on the floor, which, compared to the hideous excuse of a mattress, proved to be comfortable. Baba Yaga managed to find a corner of the mattress that didn’t sink as much and made herself at home there.

“You remember the last time we had to do this?” Illya mused.

“Yeah, the Girls of Nazarone Affair when we found those poison needles in our beds,” Napoleon said, smirking at the memory. “Can you believe that was 53 years ago?”

“Truly remarkable,” Illya agreed. “But here we are—still here. Still together.”

“I’ve enjoyed every moment of it,” Napoleon said, drawing him into a hug.

Illya returned the hug.

“So have I,” he said.

They looked into each other’s eyes again, and then kissed.

A little snafu in their itinerary was but a small obstacle after everything they’d faced—but, like everything else, they would face it together.


End file.
